The Other Side
by peanutbutterer
Summary: She thinks that maybe in another life she would have been someone... done something. JohnElizabeth
1. Chapter 1

She thinks that maybe in another life she would have been someone – _done_ something.

She has an abstract notion of grandeur that doesn't quite meld with her daily existence, but seems so much a part of her that somehow, somewhere – she knows she's bigger than this.

Unfortunately, in this incarnation she's not.

She's sitting at a table in the back when she first sees him. He staggers in the door, haloed by the evening's dimming light. As he steps into the room and her vision adjusts she finds herself unable to keep from following his movements. His slumped posture blocks the ambient light, accentuating the dark shadows that swallow his eyes. She's seen his type before – they come to the bar to dull those memories that refuse to fade in intensity.

Sometimes she halfheartedly wishes she was one of these pained souls – that there was something in life she had loved so completely that losing it had left her a fragile shell of the person she once was. But then she realizes how pathetic and trite that sounds and how, really, she's probably better off swathed in her cushion of mediocrity.

It surprises her when he comes and joins her in the booth, but it doesn't throw her. This isn't the first time a strange man has approached her and it won't be the last.

She's about to give him a brush-off when he speaks.

"Elizabeth –"

"Do I know you?" She is absolutely positive that she has never seen this man before, but he's sliding in next to her, invading her personal space like they're long lost lovers and calling her by name.

He sighs at her reaction and the cloud that envelops his darkening eyes tells her something is tormenting him; that she's unknowingly taken a large stick and poked him right in a tender spot. She feels a little guilty, but isn't quite sure why or how.

"No," he grounds out hoarsely, "no, you don't know me."

Well, that's a relief. For the briefest moment she was concerned there may have been some portion of her life that she'd blacked out on, and those never end well.

"So, how did you get my name?"

"I know you."

Okay, that one she wasn't expecting. The 'you-know-me/I-know-you' thing should be reciprocal, shouldn't it? Unless he's some sort of stalker, but she's strangely reluctant to dismiss him with that label. She's also fairly certain she's not the type of woman that strange men devote their lives to following.

He's leaning on the table, head in hands, pinching his eyes like he's trying to block out a searing headache or bad porn.

As forthcoming as he's _not_ being, it seems that she's going to have to continue with the leading questions.

"How do you know me?"

He looks up then, big, saucer eyes. "I love you."

All right, so – now she's rethinking the stalker thing.

"How can you love me when I don't know you?" Regardless of the creepy factor, she's oddly drawn to this man. Her insides are clenching in an unfamiliar rhythm and her next words come out softly. "I don't even know your name."

"John," he says on an exhale, the sound black as smoke. He manages to sit up and rub a hand over his face, as if wiping clean the evening's slate – except that when he removes it the pain and anguish have magnified rather than diminished.

"My name is John Sheppard. I need you to know that I love you," he pleads.

Alarms go off in her head and she knows – just _knows_ – she should get the hell out of here, but her body reacts as if severed from her rational mind. Her hand comes to rest gently on his arm.

"John, I don't –"

He slams his fist onto the wood table sending the silverware settings jumping. The utensils land with a metallic rattle.

"How the hell am I…" he mumbles to himself, rambling incomplete and incoherent thoughts. "God, what if – Rodney had better…"

He turns to her, clearing his throat and, she hopes, attempting rational dialogue. "I don't know how I'm supposed to do this, Elizabeth."

She tightens her grip on his arm but she doesn't know why. "Rodney McKay?"

He nods numbly, his rogue hand now running absently through his unruly hair.

"The physics professor?"

He simply shrugs.

"You know him?"

He hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't know him, don't know you. I know them."

He's obviously heartbroken and for some indefinable reason she really wants to help him, or to get him the help he needs, but these riddles are tearing at her patience.

"John, can you start from the beginning please? I'm trying to figure out what's going on."

His eyes dart around the room as if trying to spot eavesdroppers, or perhaps locate the men with the straightjacket who are looking for him.

"Is there somewhere else we can go?"

If she learned anything from after-school specials it was that strange men are to be dealt with in public venues. Regardless of how much candy they have or how tearfully they profess their love for you.

"No," she realizes her hand is still on his arm and slowly removes it, "let's just stay here."

He closes his eyes briefly before sinking back into the booth. For a moment he just sits there, eyes upturned as if he could actually see into his head to find the words that he's searching for.

"You're not going to believe any of this, Elizabeth. You're too rational."

While that may be true, she doesn't appreciate being analyzed by strangers. She thinks about believing him just to prove him wrong. Which is, if he's telling the truth about knowing her, perhaps the reason he made the statement in the first place. Either he's incredibly manipulative or she's really gone too deeply into this.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning."

She offers him a half-smile. "That seems like a reasonable suggestion."

He speaks slowly, as if the concept is so complicated that she'll need the extra time to process it.

"We're not alone in the universe."

"Right," she says, not knowing where he intends to go with this.

His eyes widen. "You know that?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he seems shaken but continues, "well, there is a program operated by the USAF through which we make contact with the rest of the galaxy."

"Stargate Command."

He looks at her like she has three heads. "You know about the SGC?"

She's trying very hard not to write him off as crazy, but he's not helping his cause. "Everyone knows about the SGC. They publicized it four years ago."

"Do you know about Atlantis?"

"In the Pegasus Galaxy."

"Yes!" he exclaims excitedly. "Atlantis, in the Pegasus Galaxy. And you are the leader of the expedition."

She laughs at that. "No, I'm a political science professor."

His face falls and she feels as though she's just stolen his favorite toy and hidden it away.

"Did you always want to be a professor?" he asks, his eyes cast downward as he fiddles with the corner of a napkin.

She thinks about it for a moment. It's been so long since she's entertained that line of thought. "No, not always."

He turns his head to meet her gaze but doesn't release the paper he's toying with. "What did you want to be?"

"Well, when I was in kindergarten I was all set to be a princess."

This is the first time she sees him smile – even if it is a little halfhearted.

"A princess?"

She nods. "And then, when I was a few years older, I wanted to be a cake decorator." He raises his eyebrows. "The person who puts on the icing," she clarifies.

"I didn't know you were artistically inclined." He's grinning now.

"I'm not. This is why by the time I was old enough to have some sense I decided I wanted to be a diplomat."

"…so that, should you become a princess, you would be able to perform your royal duties with a grace befitting your stature?"

"Exactly."

There's a light in his eyes that's unlike anything she's seen. A sparkle. She wants to see more of it.

"So, why did you give up your political aspirations?" He leans onto his elbow in rapt attention.

She's suddenly embarrassed. It was a decision she made a long time ago and has wondered about since. But, at the time…

"I was in love," she admits reluctantly. "And he – Simon – wasn't crazy about the idea of having an international relationship. I needed something steady, something that would allow me to stay put." She smiles sheepishly. "I thought it was what I wanted."

"But it wasn't?"

It's the first time she's acknowledged it aloud. "No, it wasn't. Neither was he, but – hindsight and all that."

He nods knowingly.

Feeling off-balance and vulnerable, she changes topics. "I'm surprised you don't know all this information already."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's where the timeline alters." A moment after the words leave his mouth his eyes widen, as if he hadn't meant to let that sentence slip.

"Timeline?"

"Uh," he falters, suddenly caught, "yeah, well…"

"What's this about me leading the Atlantis Expedition?"

He scratches his temple. "This is the part you're not going to buy."

She crosses her arms, quirking an eyebrow. "Try me."

--

"_Beckett thinks it's time we consider the possibility that she may –"_

"_The device." John cut Rodney off with a snap of his fingers. "The one from MX2-783."_

_The scientist looked up from his chair in the corner, brow creased in confusion. "The one –" he stopped himself and dropped his volume to a hushed whisper. "The one that Cadman's team –"_

"_Yes, that one," John whispered in reply, suddenly mindful of his surroundings._

"_How could that possibly help us?"_

_Grabbing his arm, John pulled Rodney out into the hall so they could speak without fear of being overheard._

"_How do you _think_ it could help us, McKay?" he bit out irritably. "You said it was similar to a quantum mirror."_

_The scientist perked up. "Yes, yes. But I believe it to be even more advanced." He began gesticulating excitedly. "You see, unlike the naquada mirror that the SGC has encountered, it seems that this particular device has a timing mechanism inherent in the design which will enable the user to –"_

"…_get into and out of different realities without relying on another portal," John finished for him._

_Rodney crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Well, that's what it appears, but we haven't even –"_

"_Damn it, we don't have time to run it through the proper tests!"_

"_Would you stop interrupting me!"_

--

"Wait, wait, wait," she says, cutting into John's retelling. "Different realities?"

He winces. "Yeah, alternate universes. That's where I'm from."

She's pretty sure the pounding in her head is the sound of her brain attempting to twist and turn enough so that it can wrap itself around all of this. "So, what, you're from the future?"

He shakes his head and goes back to fidgeting, this time pushing a spoon around with his index finger. "No, no, not the future." He looks up suddenly. "It is December of 2010, right?"

She nods and he goes pack to the pushing.

"No, we haven't been able to get a handle on time travel yet."

She fights the urge to take the spoon from him and force him to meet her eyes. He's being infuriatingly childlike in his evasiveness.

"Though we did encounter it once," he adds absently. "But I'm not from the future. I'm from a parallel plane of existence."

The frustrating sense of incomprehension and disbelief must be clearly evident in the catch of her breath, because he looks up from the table and tries to explain. "Every time we make a choice in life, we leave one or more possibilities unexplored. For each decision there is an alternate reality that exists concurrent with our own in which that decision was made differently. If I come to a fork in the road and turn left, in a parallel universe John Sheppard went right."

She bites her lower lip. "So, somewhere out there," she gestures vaguely to the bank of windows at the front of the bar, "there is a version of me who maced you and ran away?"

He laughs mirthlessly. "Did you have the urge?"

"I left my mace at home."

Nodding, he answers, "Then yes, there is." Pausing a moment, he scratches the back of his neck contemplatively. "Although – I'm not sure how it would work since I've crossed into your reality through unnatural means. I forced my way in, so I'm not entirely certain how variations of my meddling – for lack of a better word – would have physically manifested in other parallel planes within the metaverse."

"Right," she says lamely, not entirely sure how else to respond. "So, that would make… a lot of different realities." God, she really feels like a dunce.

"An infinite number."

"Infinite," she echoes. She'd rather work through this in her head, but the sheer magnitude of it requires verbalization. "So, you're from a different universe and you forced your way into mine."

He nods. "Yeah, that's the gist of it. You think I'm crazy, don't you?" He doesn't bother looking up.

"I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

He grunts at that.

"Can you prove it?" she asks.

"In a bit. Until then, can you just trust me?"

No, she thinks. But she wants to anyway. "Did you come to this particular universe on purpose?"

"Sort of," he answers evasively. "A few years ago we had a little mishap that involved tearing a hole in the fabric of another universe."

Somehow she doesn't think 'mishap' covers it, but she leans forward, indicating that he should continue.

"Because there are so many possible universes out there, the odds of tapping into an inhabited one are slim – so when we attempted to test a theory involving drawing the energy from a universe and harnessing it so that it was usable, we assumed that, the odds being in our favor, we'd hit an empty one."

Amazingly, she thinks she might actually understand this… abstract and intangible though it may be. "But you didn't."

His head shakes ruefully, "No, we didn't. This is why we spent a great deal of time and energy developing a way to look into parallel planes without crossing into them. Which we have sort of managed to do."

"Sort of?"

"Well, yes." He finally turns his attention from the spoon and twists his body so that he's facing her. "McKay created a way to open a window long enough to detect signs of life."

"So you know if there are people inhabiting that plane," she surmises.

"More than that. With modified life-signs detectors we can determine exactly _who_ inhabits the plane and where they are."

She opens her mouth to ask how that's possible but shuts it before making a sound. She's going to place everything she has learned today under '_how the fuck!' _in her mental filing cabinet. "So you can look through a window into another universe and see everyone in it."

"Not everyone." He picks up a knife and begins tapping it anxiously on his knee, creating a muted thumping sound. At least it's not the table. "We can only identify the people whose brainwave signatures we have in our system – which is limited to members of the expedition."

She feels a lump form in her throat. "So, you came to this universe specifically for me." She supposes she should have figured that out earlier, but it didn't manage to click until now.

He slows the tapping of the knife as he speaks. "We needed to find a version of Elizabeth Weir in a universe with close enough proximity to our own so there is no possibility of entropic cascade failure."

She's not sure why she bothers, but she asks anyway. "Entropic cascade failure?"

The pace of the tapping picks up again and he looks at his watch while he rambles off a textbook explanation. That is, assuming there are textbooks for this type of thing. "It's the resulting side-effect of having two or more of the same person co-existing in an identical reality." He looks up at her. "It's painful, it's messy and it's best if we don't have to deal with it. When the realities are close enough, it doesn't occur."

The lump gets bigger. "Two in the same –" she halts the thought. That means either he brought her here or… "You plan on taking me back with you."

"Not against your will," he says defensively. "I came to ask if you'd be willing."

Willing to go with him to an alternate universe in which she already exists? Struggling to figure out what his motivation for this whole scenario could possibly be, she thinks back to the first moment she saw him. He was broken, visibly aching. And he had said that he loved her in such a desperate and needy way.

"Your Elizabeth doesn't love you back and you plan on using me as a substitute?" Even saying it makes her feel vile and she backs away from this man – this _stranger_ that she has let convince her of some fantastical science fiction existence. She swallows down the bile that crawls up the back of her throat.

"No." He grabs her wrist and keeps her from bolting. "God, no, Elizabeth." He seems as repulsed by the suggestion as she is, so she lets him guide her back to her seat. "I would never do something like that." He looks at his watch and tenses. "Look, I don't have time to get into this, but she's in trouble. Elizabeth is in trouble and she is – you are – the only one who can save her." When he turns back to her she thinks she's never seen anyone look so desperate. His hand tightens on her wrist and she knows he can feel her pulse racing beneath his touch. "Will you come with me?"

This is all too much. She's supposed to be the savior for her alternate self? What on Earth could she do that no one else could? "But, John, I don't –"

"I'm sorry," he cuts her off, "we don't have time." The words are falling frantically from his mouth like a chain of dominoes. "The device calls me back automatically when the time is up – I need to know now. Will you help me? Will you save her?"

In his eyes she sees a pain and sorrow so completely heartfelt that it sends shivers up her spine. In that moment she knows that if a reality in which she – Elizabeth Weir – is loved so utterly actually exists… she has no choice but to save her. Somehow, somewhere it's only fair that she experience it.

She nods once and he greedily pulls her to him. In a flash of blinding white, they disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

In the span of an instant she's – well she doesn't know where she is, but it's certainly not the bar and she is most definitely short one dry martini. As she tries to take in her surroundings she's peripherally aware of John disentangling himself from her and speaking animatedly to someone else. The room has that grey, sterile quality that is reserved for careful study and people of annoyingly uptight brilliance. Couple that with the blinking machines that spout wires like water from a sprinkler and the chicken-scratch covered whiteboard with an abnormal number of cylinders and pie charts, and she decides she's in a scientist's laboratory. If it had been a blackboard she would have gone with crazy mathematician.

"Elizabeth, this is –"

She turns around and her eyes land on the man with whom John was speaking. "Doctor McKay," she cuts him off. "We've met."

"Actually, no, you haven't," John corrects tentatively.

This from the man who not thirty minutes ago was professing his love for her. Now, suddenly, he's a stickler for details.

"I guess that's true," she concedes as she extends her hand. McKay looks to John briefly before grasping it.

"Nice to, uh, meet you." He shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, trying to think of something to say. He finally settles on "Welcome to Atlantis."

So that's where she is. Not only did she just jump into a parallel universe, she's now in another galaxy. And here she thought she was going to spend the evening eating microwave popcorn and watching old West Wing episodes. It just goes to show that her mother was right: you should always wear your good underwear.

She takes in her surroundings again, but this time with the knowledge that this is someplace remarkably foreign. Glancing around she tries to find the alien in it but everything seems unimpressively earthlike – nothing floating or… _breathing_ or anything like that. It looks like a scientist's lab. There are maybe a few light panels here and there that don't come standard, but besides that it's pretty much run of the mill. Looks the same, feels the same…

"It smells like Earth," she offers when she becomes aware that they're both watching her and expecting a reaction. Perhaps she should have waited to voice her inner monologue until a more appropriate thought, but there you have it.

McKay's face puckers. "I suppose it does," he says with a hint of wonder, like inhaling had never occurred to him. He appraises her for a long moment before changing the subject. "Sheppard tells me you're a professor."

The butterflies in her stomach are fluttering at Mach 3 and she wonders how much small talk is required before they'll just explain to her what the hell is going on. Perhaps they think they're being polite – but really it's just adding to her anxiety. "I am, yeah. Political science."

"Hmm," he says mostly to himself and his chest puffs up a little. He's a bit more human than the Rodney McKay she knows, she can tell that easily. Softer cadence, a little more genuine interest in his eyes when he speaks of something other than himself. She finds that interesting. One would think that living in an alien galaxy would harden a person not soften them. "I never knew Elizabeth before she was a superpower," he says with curiosity. "Maybe you'll be a little more fun."

"McKay," John scolds and Rodney immediately backpedals. It gives her the impression that Rodney's been reprimanded in this manner on numerous occasions.

"Not that she isn't fun now. It's just that she's so stressed all the time… tightly wound, you know?"

She can't help but be disappointed. This isn't what she wanted to hear. In the half-hour or so she's been aware of this other existence she's developed a sort of hero worship for her alternate self and she really doesn't want that to be ruined so early in the game. "So the other me is," she searches for the right word, "rigid?"

"No," John says emphatically. "Elizabeth is not rigid." If eyes could shoot laser beams McKay would be toast – extra crispy – but they soften as he turns back to her. "She's got a difficult job that requires a lot of her. She rarely has a chance to relax."

"Right," Rodney chimes in. "She's perfectly agreeable. Just a little tense."

She thinks that running an intergalactic expedition is a pretty good excuse. Hell, she's more than 'a little tense' when she has her mother over for dinner once a month. "Maybe it's because you all call her Elizabeth," she hypothesizes. "Seems like you're imbuing her with pomp."

They both look a little perplexed but it's Rodney that speaks. "What else would we call her?"

Like there aren't a million variations of her name. God, what hasn't she been called? "Liz, maybe?"

John frowns. "Really? Liz?" He says it like he's tasting it for the first time. From the face he makes she's guessing he finds it a little bitter.

These guys really need to loosen up. "Yes, really. That's what people call me."

"Interesting." Rodney's index finger extends the way it always does when he postulates. "This is similar to the alternate version of myself we encountered." He looks at her with a sour face. "He went by Rod."

"That's unfortunate."

"I thought so."

"Anyway," John drawls out the word in an obvious attempt to get them back on track. He hasn't been talking much since they got here, but she can tell from his face that he's relaxed a bit. She thinks, but she can't be sure, that there's less slump to the set of his shoulders. There's definitely more animation in him – something burning beneath the surface that wasn't there before. And, as much as she's relieved to see him in higher spirits, it worries her. She's starting to understand that this change in him is a result of the hope he's placed in her. It takes a conscious effort not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of his expectation. "We should get going on this," he continues.

She's about to ask what exactly "this" is when a stream of muddled curses alerts them to a new presence in the room. At least she thinks they're curses. The man is short, spectacled and has a receding hairline that spills into a wispy tangle. His nose is firmly planted in some sort of half-laptop and his face is pinched in frustration. The words are Eastern Bloc but she can't be more specific than that. Perhaps if he were asking for directions to the nearest the bathroom she could narrow it down, but from the intonation she's guessing this isn't something she'd read in a beginners guide.

The man stops speaking when he realizes he's not alone. He looks a little bashful as his eyes land on her. "Doctor Weir," his words are heavily accented, "I did not know you had recovered."

Before she's able to open her mouth in response, or even form a response in her head, John takes a step toward her and places a hand on her upper arm. "She's just been released," he responds for her.

"Wonderful," the man says and his eyes light up. "I was very worried for you."

She smiles at him, touched by his concern even if she doesn't know who he is or what exactly he thinks (knows?) has happened to her (the other her).

"You look very nice," he continues, indicating her clothing, "I have not seen you out of uniform for so long."

"Carson's got her off-duty today," Rodney supplies, "so she's in civvies."

She suddenly feels like a puppet – unable to speak or think for herself and just letting these two men pull the strings. Isn't she supposed to be in charge of everything around here? Won't this man find it odd that she's letting everyone else speak for her?

Apparently she's not far off.

"Have you lost your voice?" he asks, anxiety clearly etched in his features.

"No," she answers at the same time John says, "Yes." He fixes her with a stern expression but she continues, "No, I haven't. Just feeling a little under the weather and you know how overprotective these two can be." She's gambling with the last bit but she doesn't think it's much of a risk. John is obviously preoccupied with her welfare and he seems to have entrusted this secret about her to Rodney, so she's banking on him being a close friend as well.

The man nods knowingly and John tugs on her arm. "Speaking of," he says brightly, "we should get you to your quarters. I promised Beckett I would ensure that you rested."

"Right," she agrees, wondering who Beckett is and where the hell the other Elizabeth might be. "Thank you for your concern –"

Oh, god. She doesn't know his name. And now it's just… hanging out there. John's looking at her like he's been goosed and Rodney's face has whitened considerably.

"Radek," McKay spouts suddenly, as if a dam has broken, "did you have something you needed from me?"

John pulls her out of the room before she can hear his response.

"That's Radek Zelenka," he half-whispers once they're in the corridor. "Scientist, engineer… basically McKay's second."

She nods. He's still got a hold of her arm and the grip hasn't loosened since he yanked her from the lab. The pain is becoming something of a distraction.

"John?" She meets his eyes and then looks to his hand. He lets go instantly.

"Sorry."

They walk down the hall in silence. She's trying to get up the nerve to ask questions – to figure out what's going on around here – but she's having trouble bringing herself to voice them. It's stupid really, and things would be much easier if they could just be upfront with her, but she's more than a little afraid of what she's going to find out. What if this Elizabeth is dying? What if she can't save her?

She's distracted from delving further into the empty half of her metaphorical glass when they come across a military man of some sort. Either that or they're letting their civilians carry sidearms. Which, really, when she thinks about it, wouldn't be all that surprising. She doesn't know much about Atlantis – only what the press has released – but she does know that they have their fair share of hostile alien encounters. She wonders belatedly if perhaps _she_ should have a gun.

"Sergeant," John says, acknowledging the man that's halted before them.

"Colonel," he addresses John before turning to her. "Doctor Weir, it's good to see you up and around, ma'am."

"It's good to be up and around," she answers, trying for smooth and authoritative though her first reaction is to cringe. She always hates it when people refer to her as "ma'am." It makes her feel like her mother, or a librarian or something.

The marine takes his leave and she turns to John as they continue on their way. "Colonel, huh?"

He nods. "United States Air Force."

A flyboy. "Like Maverick?"

He shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Maverick was a Navy pilot. I'm _much_ cooler than that."

She laughs. "My apologies."

"Doctor Weir!" a female voice exclaims excitedly, cutting off John's response. "You're all right!" Looking up she sees a short, blonde woman approaching with a catlike grin on her porcelain face. She comes to a stop in front of the pair and stage-whispers, "And just in time for tonight." The woman tosses a "sir" and a nod in John's direction before returning her attention anxiously to Liz.

That could mean so many things. Unfortunately, she has no discreet way of narrowing it down. "Right," she stutters, trying to think quickly, "tonight." She looks pleadingly to John for help but he just shrugs. She's on her own with this one.

"I, uh, I think I'm going to have to cancel on you," Liz tosses on a frown and this time tries for disappointment. "Unfortunately, I'm feeling a bit feeble still."

The woman's eyes soften and she steps back. "Understandable, ma'am. We hope you're back in shape soon."

"Lieutenant Laura Cadman," John fills her in when the woman disappears around a corner, "and I have no idea what she was talking about. But I've got to admit, I'm really curious."

That makes two of them. "Maybe you could go in my stead?"

"Somehow, I don't think so."

Her brow furrows contemplatively. "Scrapbooking club?"

John shakes his head with a smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of mud wrestling."

She can't help but laugh. "And the farthest I was willing to go would have been strip poker."

"That's a good idea." He stops beside a pillar and turns to the wall, waving a hand over glowing blue lights. A door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a rather large living space. Now things are starting to get more eccentric. She makes a mental note that she'll have to treat doors like automated paper towel dispensers and follows John into the room.

"Your quarters," he says with a sweeping gesture.

The room is a bit more impressive than the lab and very much like a larger version of the corridor. The walls are mostly green with metallic, copper-hued ornate fixtures that seem to be for aesthetic purposes, though she'll touch them later to find out for sure. The lighting comes both from behind the fixtures and several illuminated segments of glass, or crystals maybe, set in vertical strips throughout the room. There's a couch, a pitiful excuse for a bed, enough open floor space to reenact The Nutcracker ballet and –

"Is this the city?" She steps up to a window overlooking a magnificent… she can't even find the word to describe it. It's like some extravagant futuristic castle with spires jutting from the sea like quills on a giant urchin.

He steps behind her and shares the view. "Yup," he says with a hint of the awe she's feeling, "this is Atlantis."

Tilting her head, she meets his eyes. "Can I trade for a room with bigger windows?"

----

They're sitting on "her" couch, sharing the Snickers bar she had in her bag when he finally addresses the elephant in the room.

"Elizabeth isn't well," he says softly.

Okay, elephant addressed. Now if only she could get him to explain the damn thing to her they might actually get somewhere. "That much I've gathered," she smiles gently in an attempt to put him at ease. She hesitates a moment, trying to find the right way to go about this, and finally begins with the all-important question. "What is it that's wrong with her?"

"It's complicated." He lets out a long breath and laces his fingers together. "She's in a coma."

Liz wonders if he can string together a sentence longer than five words. He's quickly reverting back to the tormented John she first encountered and she has a feeling that particular version will be harder to work with.

"Am I going to have to play twenty questions to get the story from you?"

He blinks up at her before creasing his brow. "No. Sorry."

She places her hand carefully on his arm. "I understand this is hard for you, John. But if I'm going to help her, I need to know what's going on."

He nods once.

--

"_Rodney, calm down," Elizabeth responded dryly, but when she looked at John a smile tugged at her lips. It wasn't the first time the scientist had become worked up about a discovery and his proclivity to enthusiasm had become something of a joke between them. "What is it exactly that you've found?"_

"You'll have to come see for yourself," _his answer came over the comm. _"Bring Sheppard and meet me at the transporter near the east pier in sublevel two."

_She tapped off her earpiece and looked across her desk. "Well, Colonel, shall we see what it is that Rodney's going on about this time?"_

_John stood and waited for Elizabeth to pass before following her out of her office. "McKay is driving me crazy." He looked at her with pleading eyes as they crossed the gangway. "Can't I just join Lorne's team for a few days?"_

_Elizabeth's lips pursed to contain a laugh. "John, you've only been city-bound for three days. You can stick it out another two and allow your team time for a full recovery before going on another mission."_

_He made a grunt of protest. "Ronon and Teyla _so _owe me for this."_

"_They owe you because they contracted an alien flu?"_

"_Yes. Yes they do."_

"_And here I thought you'd be thankful that the strain wasn't an airborne virus and was only," she coughed discreetly, "orally contracted. Besides," her eyes twinkled with amusement, "the last time I let you accompany Colonel Lorne you brought back a cat."_

"_It was more like a rabbit," he corrected as they stepped into the transporter and the doors closed behind them._

_She rolled her eyes and touched the screen, indicating the second sublevel. "Regardless," she continued as the doors opened and he trailed her into the dimly lit corridor, "when the two of you get together you wreak more havoc than I can rightly handle. I'd prefer to keep you separated when out of my sight for extended periods."_

"_Aww, but Mom," he whined as Rodney approached, eyeing them critically. _

_John heaved a giant sigh of defeat and waved off the scientist's questioning brow. "What is it you've found this time, McKay? Do I need a hazmat suit?"_

"_Funny," Rodney deadpanned as he pivoted, indicating that they should follow him down the hallway. "And no. At least I don't think so."_

_Rodney turned left when the corridor forked and stepped into the next room on the right. At first glance it appeared to be a mirror image of the holo-room that the expedition discovered when they came to Atlantis, complete with podium._

"_Another interface for the Ancient database?" Elizabeth speculated._

_Rodney shook his head. "I don't think so. I think this is something completely different." He stepped up onto the control platform and pressed a button. Nothing happened. "The problem is that I can't seem to activate it."_

"_Well," John mused, his voice dripping with arrogance, "maybe you just need someone with a stronger gene."_

"_Yes, yes," Rodney snapped back tersely, "I wouldn't have had Elizabeth bring you all the way down here for your charming personality, now would I?"_

_John smiled brightly at him before stepping onto the podium and pressing the button with a dramatic flare._

"_Ha!" McKay exclaimed triumphantly when no hologram appeared. "That didn't do it!"_

"_Which is a _bad_ thing, Rodney," John reminded him, clearly annoyed._

_The scientist deflated. "Oh. Right."_

_Elizabeth looked between the two men and sighed. "Well, perhaps this is why the holo-room was created. This version seems defunct." As she spoke, she stepped up to the controls and peered at the system's configuration. Curiosity getting the better of her, she raised her hand to the initialization button and pressed firmly. At once the entire room seemed to come alive and the figure of a man blinked to life before them._

_The avatar was tall, with light brown wavy hair and a prominent nose. He was dressed in the style of the Ancients, complete with white suit, a brown leather vest and cuffs. He reminded John vaguely of Niam. The thought made his fists clench._

_John didn't have time to wonder what Elizabeth had done to activate the device before the image began to speak._

"_Doctor Elizabeth Weir, I am pleased to know that you have arrived safely to the city of Atlantis."_

_Well, that answered that, he supposed. "Who is this guy?" John asked anxiously, taking a protective step toward Elizabeth. "And how the hell does he know –"_

_The man resumed speaking. "I am Janus. I met your counterpart under rather unusual circumstances. I returned to the city shortly after the Lantean departure to bring her important information that I had acquired but she had already entered stasis. I created this program as an alternate method by which to impart to you and your expedition this knowledge in the likely event that her mission succeeded. Because of the sensitive nature of the information I need to convey, I must ensure I am speaking with Doctor Elizabeth Weir."_

----


	3. Chapter 3

"So," she bites her lower lip thoughtfully, "let me get this straight."

John leans forward, elbows on knees, a singular blend of anxious and melancholy.

"The first time you came here, I –" she hesitates. She's still unsure how to refer to herself or her other self and now there's a third to contend with. Perhaps they should just assign numbers or something. "The first Elizabeth," she corrects, "survived the destruction of the city by traveling 10,000 years into the past through a modified space ship. She met Ancients – the people who built this city – and found a way to change the fate of the future so that the expedition," she looks to John, "_your_ expedition would survive, which she did by living in suspended animation for a few millennia."

"Right." He nods as if she's just correctly spelled the first word in a spelling bee. This is all so absurd.

"And Janus was the scientist who built both the time machine and the stasis pod," she adds.

"Yes."

"And you found a hologram he left for Elizabeth to find."

"Correct." He looks at her, a trace of worry creeping into his expression. "How are you holding up? You okay?"

As "okay" as one can be when they are sitting on a sofa in an alternate universe while discussing time travel and people living for 10,000 years, she supposes. But pointing out the absurdity of their situation to the man who has been living it seems unnecessary. He must already know how upside-down this is.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"All right," he continues, now that she's caught up on the history, "so the hologram told us he needed to verify Elizabeth's identity. The button she had pushed apparently read her DNA and confirmed that it was Elizabeth Weir, but for some reason Janus felt that wasn't enough proof. He had prepared a series of questions for her to answer."

It seems to her that DNA is more than enough concrete evidence, but she's no brilliant Ancient scientist so she lets it slide. Perhaps in his world there were easy ways to falsify that kind of thing. "What kinds of questions?"

John shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know. Once she agreed to answer them a clear wall appeared and surrounded her. We could see her, but we couldn't hear or touch her."

She fights the urge to massage her temples. Right. Materializing barriers. "What happened then?"

His tone turns somber and he looks pained, as if reliving it is as traumatic as experiencing it the first time. "It looked like she was answering the questions and doing just fine until all of a sudden she collapsed." He lets out a shaky breath before continuing. "Then the walls receded and the hologram told us that she couldn't be the Elizabeth Weir he had known. That the imposter had been subdued and would be until the real Elizabeth was brought forward."

"But," she protests defensively, "she _is_ the real Elizabeth."

His voice is tight with frustration. "I know she is, but apparently she said something to imply that she wasn't. And now this illusory psychopath is killing her."

"Killing her?" she asks softly, but he hears anyway.

Closing his eyes, he rubs a hand over his forehead before explaining. "Beckett," at her questioning look he clarifies, "Carson Beckett, the chief medical officer, says that her condition is steadily worsening. It's like Janus flipped a switch and turned her consciousness off – and her body can't sustain itself under those conditions indefinitely."

1She sighs and takes a deep breath, glancing out the window to stare at the ocean and give herself time. "Which is why you came and got me." She wants to sigh again.

He nods solemnly. "There's nothing Beckett can do for her. The only way we can help her is to get Janus to undo what he's done, and the only person the program will respond to is Elizabeth."

"But Janus couldn't have expected you to jump universes to find a suitable substitute," she surmises.

"No," he lowers his head and looks at the floor, "no I don't suppose he could have." His eyes flicker up to hers. "We've crossed the line on this one, Liz." The way he says her name sends a thrill up her spine and for the briefest of moments she entertains the selfish thought that she wishes he said it more often. Then she decides that if she had one wish it would be that Elizabeth was sitting here where she was, not wasting away, hidden somewhere deep within the walls of the city. "I couldn't –" he continues, a small hitch to his voice, "I just couldn't stand by and watch her slowly die. Not when there was something, _anything _to be done about it. Rodney, Carson and I did this on our own. Everyone else in the city thinks that she's been cured and that you're her."

She bows her head and lets her hair fall across her face and closed eyes, unconsciously mirroring John. The pieces are there now. She knows why she's here, what she's supposed to do and why she needs to do it. But that's not going to make it any easier. "So you want me to take Janus' test to prove that I'm Elizabeth Weir in order to get this secret information and save your Elizabeth who is currently in a coma hidden somewhere in Atlantis."

He continues to focus on the floor, the wall… anywhere but her face.

She bites her lip and swallows something that wants to well up from her chest. "So that you can tell her you love her," she finishes.

"What?" His head whips around. "Oh, that." He licks his lips. She tries not to notice that he won't quite meet her eyes. And she tries not to notice that it bothers her – just a little. "Listen, about what I said in the bar… I was – well, I was a little out of sorts. I sort of," he pauses, trying to find the word, "flipped out, I guess."

"I understand."

"You don't know how much this city needs her. She holds everything together." He's so earnest that it's almost childlike, but she's sure she gets his meaning. She hasn't had much contact with the people of Atlantis, but from the brief glimpses of their interaction she's been privy to she can already tell there is a deep and profound respect and love for Elizabeth Weir. Obviously Rodney, Carson and John care enough to risk breaking the laws of nature in order to see her safely recovered. It's a powerful thing.

She twists her fingers together, thinking about everything that could go wrong; but knows that in the end that those things won't matter. "So what do I need to know about Elizabeth's life here before I take the test?"

----

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says as she takes Dr. Beckett's extended hand and he smiles. She wonders what it takes to throw these people off balance – because meeting someone from an alternate existence doesn't even appear to rate a double-take.

"The pleasure is mine, lass," he intones with a clear Scottish brogue. Then his bright, expressive eyes turn serious. "Colonel Sheppard has spoken with you about the risks?" he asks.

"Slow death?" She tilts her head up to smile at him. "Yeah, he mentioned it." She's not sure how she can be so cavalier about this. She is, after all, the same woman who refuses to participate in water sports for fear of drowning. But somehow the danger that looms before her now doesn't shake her. She likes to think it's because she's a big enough person to appreciate that the risk she's taking is for the greater good of civilization, but really, it's more likely that she's so intent on not letting these three men down that she can't find it in her to consider failure an option.

"You don't have to do this," John says again. He's spent the last thirty minutes reminding her and it's beginning to wear thin.

She brushes him off with a wave of her hand. "I want to. Besides," her eyes twinkle, "if I fail then John will just have to pop into another universe and grab a different me."

"I can see it now," Carson chuckles humorlessly, "a pile of unconscious Elizabeths." He sighs wearily and musters a disapproving shake of his head. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"You know she's never going to forgive us for this," Rodney observes from his place against the wall. "Elizabeth would never authorize such drastic measures to save her."

"No," John agrees, "she wouldn't. But she would do it to acquire the information that Janus is offering." He looks up. "Lucky for us, right?"

"Yeah," Rodney scuffs his toe against an imagined spot on the floor. "We're so very fortunate."

"Well, shall we get going?" she asks, hoping that movement will somehow prevent the disquiet she feels churning within her from spilling to the surface.

The men look to John, who nods once before turning on his heel and walking out of the infirmary, Carson following a beat later. She's about to go as well when Rodney grabs her arm and holds her back.

"I know how Sheppard can be," he says softly. She looks up, unsure where he's going with this and maybe even slightly wary. Seeing the obvious puzzlement he takes a moment before continuing – perhaps trying to find a way to better explain. "He's an incredibly strong man," he continues, "and Elizabeth is his weakness. He doesn't know how to handle that."

She's not sure she knows how to handle it either.

"I don't know if you know me well – back where you're from – but I'm not very open with my emotions. I guess one might say I don't quite have a grasp of them. Which is… well," he pinches his face in a thoughtful squint, pushing up the apples of his cheeks, "…true. I guess that makes my point even more valid."

She wrinkles her brow in genuine confusion. "What is your point?"

"Watching him," he indicates the doorway John had vanished through, "seeing him like that, so _broken_, it does something to you." He gestures vaguely to his chest. "You can feel it. It compels you." Rodney turns to her, face wiped clean of emotion. "Don't let that be the reason you do this, Liz. You can't do this for Sheppard, no matter how much you want to."

She inhales slowly and gently pulls her arm free. She has to take a moment to let that sink in, though the truth of it was already there. She does want to do this for John – to do anything she can to mend him. But it's more than that. She wants to do it for Elizabeth. For Rodney and Carson, Doctor Zelenka and Lieutenant Cadman. For Janus and for the information he holds. But mostly, she wants to do it for herself.

"I know," she says finally.

He searches her eyes. She thinks he must see what he's looking for because a moment later he's ushering her out of the room and down the hallway with a hand on her back and a sigh on his lips. It's not until they've arrived in sublevel two that he finally speaks.

"So, do you know me very well? The other me, I mean."

She wraps her arms across her chest and thinks about home. The other Rodney is a good man, but he's naïve. For all of his intelligence, he knows little of the ways of the world and of the intricacies of social behavior. Perhaps, were he to experience the life this Rodney has lived, he would have matured as well.

"I do," she answers. "He works at the university with me."

"Huh," he frowns. "A professor."

"He asked me on a date once." She bites her cheek to keep from smiling as they turn a corner. She pauses at the doorframe, reluctant to cross the threshold just yet.

The information startles him and he stops beside her. "He did?" After a moment's pause he asks tentatively, "Did you go?"

"No," she confesses and his face falls. She reaches out and brushes her fingers against his wrist. "But I think if he were more like you the answer would have been different."

He blushes.

"Liz?" John calls from inside. "You ready?"

Her gaze turns to focus on the room, its stark appearance contrasting sharply with the power it wields in the lives of these people who have become so important to her in just the last twenty-four hours. "I am," she says a little more confidently than she feels. Her heart has picked up its pace again and her palms are becoming clammy. She feels like she's about to jump out of a plane without knowing how to operate her parachute. She pushes her body away from the door and steps carefully into the room.

"So press this button here to initialize it, I guess," John says, stepping up on the podium. "After that – well, you're on your own." He smiles apologetically. As she climbs up to take his place he grabs her hand. His breath expels in a soft puff of air and he squeezes gently. "Thank you," he says quietly, then steps down to join Carson and Rodney.

She takes a calming breath that doesn't have its desired effect. She reminds herself that this is what she always wanted – that she's about to do something important. Glancing once more at the figures behind her, she nods and presses the button.

A life-sized image of a man flickers into focus like an old television turning on. He looks gentle, almost kind, and there's a very contradictory sense of mischief about him. His speech begins genially enough.

"Doctor Elizabeth Weir, I am pleased to know that you have arrived safely to the city of Atlantis…"

He continues on exactly as John had told her he would. When he comes to the part about ensuring she is Elizabeth Weir she squares her shoulders tensely.

"I did not know Elizabeth long, but I do feel that I know her well. In my many years I have learned the science of people. It's not exact of course, as people will always surprise you – but there are fundamental cornerstones in every individual's essence which one would be hard-pressed to alter. It is with this in mind that I have created a series of questions of which I am certain of Elizabeth's answers. If you are truly Doctor Weir, you will simply need to respond with your natural instincts." He pauses, removing an electronic device from the folds of his clothing and examining it. Looking up, he resumes his speech. "If you are prepared to continue, please press the leftmost crystal on the console before you and we will begin."

She does so and a soft hiss accompanies the walls as they close in around her, dividing her from the men who look on anxiously. The urge to run creeps up her spine and her breathing becomes shallow with the irrational fear that her oxygen has been limited. She feels like a fish in a bowl – gaping and circling with nowhere to go.

"Good. Please listen to each statement and respond by pressing once for true and twice for false." He offers a slanted smile. "I'm sorry I could not allow for more depth to your answers, but an orally responsive test would have taken a considerable amount of time – of which I have little to spare."

Right. She's sure he whipped up this holographic interface in his lunch hour.

"Let us commence. Your concern for others outweighs your concern for yourself."

Suddenly she's back in her high school guidance councilor's office taking a career placement test. The one that told her she was most aptly suited to be a grocery bagger because she was personable and had a highly developed sense of spatial reasoning. She hopes that she'll be more successful this time around. At least he is starting out easy – this is along the lines of getting credit for spelling your name right on an exam. She presses the button once.

"You are open to ideas of others, regardless of whether or not they are consistent with your own."

She thinks about her students and their discussions, and how she's learned that being the professor doesn't mean she's always right; that some of the most impressive and ground breaking ideas are born from a logic that would never have occurred to her. She remembers that exhilarating feeling of being convinced of something you've known for years to be false. If it weren't for the ideas of others life would hold little surprise. She presses the button again.

"You believe that in everyone there is good."

In the ninth grade Liz tore her ACL. Back in the day, recovery entailed spending the first six weeks in a full leg cast. Josh Wilson took a black marker and wrote profanities on the light blue plaster before throwing her crutches down three flights of stairs. As she fought back tears she cursed his childishness and cruelty.

Two years later she was a volunteer at a local assisted living community where Mrs. Wilson's mother was a resident. Days after his grandmother's eyesight finally gave out completely Josh began his weekly visits, spending two hours every Sunday reading her the newspaper and catching her up on local events. When he squeezed her hand and whispered goodbye Liz saw a profound sadness in his eyes – she knew then that even the people that seemed easiest to read were much more complex than she gave them credit for.

A beat after she releases the button Janus speaks again. "You value justice over mercy."

Her initial reaction is that the question is unfair. She values both justice and mercy, believing that both are virtues which are necessary for a civilized society – but either in excess can be dangerous. She feels like this should be an essay question so she can qualify her response. The hologram continues to stand poised awaiting her answer and she wonders if it's possible that its light is giving off heat. As she wipes her palms on her slacks she forces herself to place one above the other. Mercy, she decides, for its inherent possibility for second chances. Something that Liz stubbornly refuses to give up is her hope that people can change for the better. She presses the button twice.

"You believe there is always a diplomatic solution."

She acknowledges that she only knows the world from what she gets out of the press and texts – second-hand accounts of negotiations and treaties, of wars and clashes. She knows that despite her attempted awareness and study she still lives in a cushy bubble and sees things from a distance – that out there in the thick of things the world is a different place. She's sure that people who have experienced life in ways she hasn't would argue that she's wrong, that she's naïve… but until the day she's forced to decide otherwise she _has_ to believe there's a diplomatic solution.

The image flickers after she releases the button and Janus' eyes crease with amusement. In an instant the walls around her vanish and he begins speaking. He's apologizing for the hoops he had her jump through, but she's not listening, too focused on settling her trembling limbs.

Within seconds John is next to her, the grin on his face threatening to split his cheeks open. "You did it!" he says as he wraps his arms around her in a tight squeeze. Rodney makes a shushing sound and this time John whispers. "You did it!" She can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm and the tension slowly drains from her body.

John lets her out of the embrace but keeps one arm around her waist as they turn to the hologram.

----


	4. Chapter 4

She feels like she's in a dream. It's never occurred to her before, but she realizes now that the twinge of familiarity she's feeling is because in her dreams she stands outside of herself. Her thoughts and feelings are her own – but the corporeal figure is in front of her field of vision, like watching a movie in which she is a player. It never seems odd or out of place, just something she accepts without the benefit of conscious thought.

But this time she's wide awake.

She drifts to lean her weight against the wall, putting a small amount of distance between herself and the impending reunion. She thinks she needs this space, though she's not yet sure why.

From her vantage point she can see everything – John, Rodney and Carson hovering with baited breath over her own still form. It's been a handful of minutes since Carson injected Elizabeth with the serum that Janus detailed and, though she knows it's not physically possible, she could swear that John hasn't breathed since. He's perched anxiously in the chair next to Elizabeth's bed, hands twisting restlessly in his lap, obviously fighting the urge to rest on top of hers. She feels like a voyeur but she can't seem to tear her eyes away.

She thinks for a moment about her own universe. She's1 been putting off the things she wants most, concentrating on other things. And while she's been sitting in the dark waiting for things to get better, her world – her life – has moved on without her. Now she's beginning to understand what she's been missing.

Elizabeth stirs, drawing her attention. The looming guardians draw a collective breath and still. The woman's eyes blink open slowly, brow furrowed as she tries to take in her surroundings, and when she turns her head to the side she finds John and relaxes perceptively.

"Hey," John whispers to Elizabeth, "welcome back."

1The emotion Liz feels while watching the soft exchange isn't exactly pain, but it's bittersweet and real. It stabs her back and sends reverberating pangs to her heart and mind. It doesn't surprise her, the feeling, but it surprises her that she feels it so deeply.

Elizabeth attempts unsuccessfully to speak and Carson is beside her immediately with a cup in one hand and his other brushing over her shoulder. "Your throat will be dry, lass." He brings the cup carefully to Elizabeth's lips. "Have some water first." Elizabeth catches the hand on her shoulder and holds it, obeying wordlessly and letting the cold liquid soothe her battered throat.

When her double finally speaks, a wave of goose bumps washes up Liz's spine and then down her arms. Her fingers clench reflexively. The voice is hers.

"What happened?"

The question is addressed to Carson but it's Rodney who responds. "You failed Janus' Elizabeth-Detector."

"Well," Elizabeth says faintly, her voice hoarse from disuse, "obviously he didn't do a very good job of –" The thought stops mid-sentence as wandering eyes land on Liz. The woman's eyebrows rise and knit together. She sees a question on Elizabeth's tongue but the concept seems incapable of being captured by words.

The silence is heavy and cumbersome. "Hi," Liz offers weakly, awkward under the scrutiny.

"Ah, yeah," John begins clumsily, turning to face her, "Elizabeth, meet Liz."

1Elizabeth manages to drag her eyes away and settle them on John. "I have a twin?"

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "No, she's you."

Liz sees the woman's shoulders rise and fall beneath the fabric of her gown, the expression on her face showing something of what Alice must have felt after a short trip down the rabbit hole. "I'm not awake yet – is that it?" 1

Rodney approaches the foot of the bed. "We kind of," he shifts his weight from hip to hip, struggling for the wording, "borrowed her from an alternate universe."

Elizabeth's head snaps up and her glare turns accusingly to John. "You did _what_?"

"Janus had put you in a coma, Elizabeth," he begins his defense evenly, articulating each word with a slow and deliberate cadence. "The only way to get him to reverse it –"

"And to get the information he had," Rodney adds helpfully.

"– was to pass his test."

1Elizabeth takes a moment to study each of the men that surround her, her jaw set tightly and her eyes narrowed. "So you just tore another version of me from an alternate universe?" Despite an obviously fragile state, the reprimand is sharp and fierce. "Do I even need to tell you how _reckless_ that was? How incredibly –" she cuts herself off and turns to Rodney. "How did he get you to agree to this? And you," she looks at Carson, "I would have thought better of you."

Liz wonders if maybe "rigid" wasn't too far off after all.

"They did it because they wanted to save you," she cuts in, unable to sit by and watch such a summary dismissal of their blind act of love. "Because to them you were worth the risk."

Elizabeth recoils, visibly shaken by the fact that she's being scolded by herself. 1Her hands grasp and tighten on the thin sheet that covers her and she squares her shoulders. She waits a beat – the room sliding into a silence marred only by her deep, uneven breathing. "It's not their decision to make," she responds finally. "The ramifications of their actions impact more than their own personal agendas."

"No, it wasn't their decision," Liz agrees. "It was mine. And I made it."

"Yours?" She sits up with a slight wince. "You shouldn't have even been presented with the option."

"But, Elizabeth," Rodney starts, "we couldn't just let you –"

"Yes, Rodney, you could have. You can't go around cavalierly breaking laws of nature just to save one person!"

Liz scoffs. "This from the woman who traveled back in time."

"That wasn't me."

"Even if we didn't do it for the right reasons, Elizabeth," John jumps in, shooting a censuring glare at Liz, "it did have the desired result. Janus' information is invaluable."

1Elizabeth recognizes the change of subject but lacks the strength to fight it. "It is?"

He relaxes a little, settling into his chair to begin the story. "He warned us about the Asurans –"

"But we already –" Elizabeth protests.

"More than that," he says, already back on the edge of his seat and placing a hand on her forearm. "He told us how to reprogram them so that –"

"But, Rodney has –"

"He wrote a code," he cuts her off, "that not only eliminates the aggression subroutine, it severs any and all forms of mental connection – removing the ability for collective merging and leaving them completely –"

"That means they would be…" Her eyes sparkle hopefully.

He nods, his expression mirroring Elizabeth's.

Somehow they just had an entire conversation without finishing a single sentence. And, even more impressive, Liz understood it completely.

"All right," Carson steps forward. "My patient needs rest. Visiting hours are over."

Elizabeth looks as though she's about to protest but the doctor raises a hand to forestall it and she slumps obediently back into her pillow.

After a quick goodbye, Rodney is out the door and headed to his lab and Beckett has begun to make his way to his office. Liz stands hesitantly for a moment, unsure of a direction that will allow her retreat. She starts to ask John where she should go but stops when she sees him. He's left his chair and settled on the edge of Elizabeth's bed, his hand gently sweeping a curl from her face. Liz backs silently out of the room, though they're so caught up in each other she wonders if they would notice a passing parade.

She's just outside the door and well out of sight when John begins speaking. Though she knows she should keep walking and allow them their privacy, her curiosity gets the better of her and she pauses. Besides, she rationalizes, it's not really eavesdropping when it's you.

"You scared me," he confesses.

Elizabeth lets out a small laugh. "I know the feeling."

"Listen," he takes an unsteady breath, "I'm…" he trails off awkwardly. Liz puts a reflexive hand on her chest and finds her heart beating rapidly.

"I'm glad you're all right," he finishes. There's a moment's hesitation and then, "I should let you rest."

Two footfalls sound before she hears Elizabeth. "John? What I said before… I – thank you."

The footsteps resume and Liz moves further from the doorframe, pacing a few steps down the hall. Anger and disappointment simmer within her, the bubbles roiling through her veins. 1The muscles along her spine tighten and her fingers curl into her palms.

John rounds the corner and stops when he sees her. "Hey." His lips smile but his eyes don't. "You holding up?"

It's a token inquiry and she doesn't bother with a response. Neither of them are concerned with her emotional wellbeing at the moment.

"You didn't tell her," she accuses in a low whisper.

John's arms rise in a useless gesture then drop to his sides again, his gaze falling to the floor as if pulled down by the enormity of the burden he carries. 1"It's complicated, Liz."

Her words are curt, forced out by the pressure of frustration. "That's a pathetic excuse, and you know it." She's not entirely sure where this vehemence is coming from, but she finds she's unable to contain it.

He opens his mouth to respond before tightly clamping it shut. All at once he seems to become aware of his surroundings, grabbing her wrist and tugging her away from the nearby doorway. "We can't do this here," he says though clenched teeth.

His grip is too tight, but she doesn't fight it – his strides are too long and too fast and it takes all she has to keep up. They weave determinedly through the darkened corridors, taking turn after turn until she knows she'll never find her way back. With a quick swipe of his hand he activates a door and pulls her into a room, whipping her around so they're standing toe to toe.

John's eyes flash and he leans into her. "Things aren't black and white here. It's not a question of whether or not I love her – I have to think of what effect telling her would have on our relationship and on the city."

"Screw the city."

"The city is my life."

The way he says it – the speed with which he spits out the words – sits wrong with her. It's immediate and rote, as if he determined long ago that this is the correct response and he has pre-programmed it for use when emotional issues encroach too closely on making him vulnerable.

She takes a moment to let her eyes fix on his. "No," she says honestly, from a place she knows intimately and somehow not at all, "it isn't."

He opens his mouth to respond and she cuts him off. "No," she repeats, this time with more edge to her voice, "it isn't." She's not going to be the desperate romantic and claim that Elizabeth is his life because it's possible that she's not. And she knows the kind of man John is – she knows that if forced to choose between the good of city and Elizabeth Weir, John Sheppard would chose the city. And he'd hate himself for it, even though Elizabeth wouldn't have it any other way. But it's not as cut-and-dried as he's making it seem. And if there's one thing that is certain in this world – her world that's so recently been shaken to the point where she's not sure what's up and what's down – it's that while they may put the city first, they put each other before themselves. _That_ is something Liz refuses to let him deny or diminish.

"I know how much the city means to you, John, but perhaps it's you who's painting this situation in black and white. It doesn't have to be one or the other. You can love Elizabeth and love the city."

His head is shaking before she even finishes speaking. "I can't lead these people if I don't give them everything I have and I can't love her if I don't love her completely."

The point is moot. "But you already do."

His blood rushes to the surface, reddening his cheeks and fueling his ire. "I can't afford to care about her too much – to be willing to sacrifice anything to save her. To be so scared of what could happen that I can't do what's best for the whole."

"But, John –"

"When I close my eyes," he continues with a fury that's white and hot, "I see you in danger. I see you being held at gunpoint and dragged through an open wormhole. I see you lying lifeless on a hospital bed with machines breathing for you. I see you with an Asuran hand digging into your forehead, stealing your conscious mind. I see your life being sucked dry as you're fed on by a goddamned Wraith!"

He's lost his precarious hold and she can practically _see_ his emotions spiraling out of control. He's looking at her with intensity and longing and pain that makes her heart sting like it's been snapped by a giant rubber band. Those feelings that she's been trying to ignore since she first saw him in the bar are back, and she's finding it hard to separate his reality from her own. "John," she tries again but he's not listening.

"And every time – every _single_ time – I throw everything rational and responsible out the window and do anything and everything physically possible to save you because I can't bear the thought of something happening to you!" His rage chokes to a broken whisper, "I love you so much I can't stand the thought of life without you – and I'm afraid… I'm _terrified_ that by letting myself go completely I'll lose control. That I'll be unable to act rationally and when that time comes – when you're in danger – I won't be level-headed enough to save you."

Her own anger starts to rise along with her voice. "Because, were I forced to pick an adjective to describe your emotional state right now? 'Level' would be the first word to pop into my mind," she spits sarcastically. "You're right – this little secret you're keeping is having the desired effect. You're a _rock_."

"I'm doing this for you!" he erupts. "Don't you see that? I'm doing this to protect Atlantis because I know it's what's most important to _you_! My job is to protect the city and I can't do that when all I can think about – all I can _see_ is you!"

"It's not an either/or. Right now, Atlantis isn't what's most important, John. You are!"

Their breathing is hot and shallow, the sound bouncing off the bare walls and filling the space between them.

And then his lips crash down on hers, his weight falling into her, pushing her backward toward the wall. She hits the hard surface behind her and she's thrown off balance – by the impact, by the assault on her senses. The kiss is fueled by emotion but it isn't gentle, it isn't loving. It's hard and demanding and so desperate.

Finally, her internal war for control forces its way to the surface. "No!" she shoves him away roughly. Never before has she felt such a powerful conflict of emotions. "No…"

"Oh, god." His hands pull away from where they've become tangled in her hair and he immediately puts distance between them. "Shit. Oh, god."

More than a little breathless, she stands stock still. Guilt and horror wash over her, dousing the desire that had flared against her will. Her heart is pumping so rapidly she can't distinguish beats and all she can feel is the ghost of his lips on hers. She wipes the back of her hand firmly across her mouth as if somehow she could wipe the sin away.

He's pacing the room – which now seems considerably smaller – cursing audibly and frequently. "God damn it!" He kicks the wall. Hard. "Ow! Fuck!" He hobbles a few feet before resting his back against the wall and sliding gracelessly to the floor. "Fuck," he says again, softer this time.

She hesitates a moment before crossing the room and sitting tentatively beside him, close but not touching. She wraps her arms around herself, fingers digging into her biceps. She doesn't look at him. "Um, okay. So that wasn't where I was going with this."

He raises one eyebrow and risks a sideways glance. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

He smiles in a way that lets her know he's teasing before turning his attention downward. He stares unfocused at his legs, finding an invisible piece of lint on his pants and picking at it absently.

In the stretching silence she feels her heart rate settle and her breathing steady. _Good grief. It was just a kiss, Liz, _she chastises herself. One hell of a kiss - but that's beside the point. Right now she needs to get to the bottom of whatever it is that's keeping John in this limbo. 1She bites her lower lip and angles her head toward him.

"What is it really?" she asks softly.

He rubs the heels of his hands to his eyes, scrubs them through his hair and down to the back of his neck. "What if she chooses Atlantis over me?" The emotion in his voice is thick and she can tell he's struggling for control.

She hugs her knees tightly to her chest. She knows what she has to say, she just doesn't know why it has to hurt so much. "Some things are worth the risk."

"You honestly think so?"

Before she can stop them her fingers lay lightly on his knee. "I know so." He covers her hand and squeezes it. She relaxes and smiles at him impishly. "And if all else fails, just kiss her. I guarantee you won't have any objections."

----

A/N: Just want to send out a thanks for all the reviews – they keep me going ) This story is winding down… one more chapter and an epilogue.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: This is the last chapter. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed ) An epilogue will be posted within the next few days…_

----

Liz sees her when she rounds the corner. Elizabeth is sitting on the bed in the make-shift infirmary, dressed in her Atlantis uniform and bent low over one knee while she struggles to lace her boots. Liz takes a deep breath and lets it slip between her lips in a long exhale. She wipes her hands on her slacks and makes her way through the room toward Elizabeth, 11feigning a nonchalance she doesn't feel. "So, Carson cleared you?"

Elizabeth startles, but smiles tentatively when she looks up and sees Liz. "Yeah, I managed to convince him that being trapped down here was doing more harm than good."

Liz joins her on the bed, perching carefully on the edge, her hands dangling loosely in the space between her knees. She's wanted to have this conversation since she first arrived but now that she's here she's not quite sure what to expect or where to begin.

Elizabeth finishes with her boots and lifts her head slightly to make eye contact. "Hospitals always remind me of Dad," she confesses softly.

Liz wants to say that for her it's the smell of disinfectant and the buzz of iridescent lights. The memories of her father's final months are still rich and painful; she's not sure they'll ever fade. 1"And Rodney, I imagine," she says instead.

"Yes," Elizabeth agrees lightly, "it certainly does. Did you hear about the time he got shot in the ass with an arrow?"

Liz grins in spite of herself. "That was one of the first stories John told me. That and the time Lieutenant Cadman got trapped inside his head."

"You know," Elizabeth twists toward Liz and draws one leg up on the bed, loosely pulling it to her chest, "you should hear Cadman's side of the story."

Sure. She'll ask her for the details right after she explains that she's on temporary loan from another universe. "That reminds me. She approached me in the hall and implied that we had some sort of, I don't know, meeting?"

Elizabeth nods. "Once a week a few of the women get together to play poker."

"John will be disappointed. He has odds on mud wrestling."

"We tried that but it was too messy," Elizabeth says with a shrug and a grin.

The room slides into silence. It isn't oppressive, but it isn't exactly comfortable either. Liz watches the other woman out of the corner of her eye. She sees the smile fade as Elizabeth rests her chin on her knee and concentrates on the toe of her boot. She wonders if that's her standard pensive face. Probably the source of her increasing wrinkles.

"I talked with Rodney." Elizabeth is serious now. "He says our universes aren't very similar – that you're a professor."

Liz shifts, edging forward to lean her elbows on her knees. She really isn't sure what she wants to say, but she speaks anyway. "I guess I didn't stick with the diplomat thing long enough to become an intergalactic explorer." The words sound casual and she wonders how she managed to pull it off. She can't quite quell the emotions she's feeling, though she's trying. She has no precedent to draw from, but it seems illogical to be embarrassed about admitting something to yourself.

Elizabeth squints thoughtfully, referencing the decision made so long ago. "Simon?"

It's impressive that even after being plucked from one universe and thrown into another by way of an alien galaxy, the little things still manage to surprise her. 1She shifts slightly and tugs at the sleeves of her sweater. "How'd you know?"

"I've always wondered what would have happened if I had said yes."

Liz's stomach is queasy and she has a headache building behind her eyes. She hopes that Elizabeth doesn't ask her a difficult question, like whether or not she's happy with her choices, because she's not sure she'd be able to answer.

"I was tempted," Elizabeth confesses. "The night was beautiful – perfect, really. And I truly did love him. When he pulled out that ring… I almost did it. But then, who puts a caveat on a proposal?"

"Yeah, I don't know," Liz answers vaguely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.1 She means to say she doesn't understand how she could have said no. "But it came just after the incident in South Africa and he was right about the dangers –"

"– and you were scared," Elizabeth finishes for her. "I know." She's absently toying with her boot, her fingers tangling themselves in her shoestrings, and Liz thinks maybe she's embarrassed too. "When I saw those people die I was so afraid. I'd never really known what violence was. I mean, intellectually I knew but I didn't _know_ it in my pores, I had no concept of what it felt like to be involved with it so intimately. I had been so sheltered."

1The space between Liz's shoulder blades tightens. 1She feels like she's listening to herself voice the things she's held bundled inside of her for so long that they've become a part of her. The words are so familiar she can feel them echoing inside her as they're spoken. She doesn't want to listen to anymore. She wants to stick her fingers in her ears and hum until they fade away.

"When I got back it felt so good to be wrapped up in Simon." Elizabeth brushes her hair off her face but continues to study her boot. "Just being in his arms let me breathe again. A part of me never wanted to leave that – was certain that I couldn't," 1she confesses.

"I never wanted protection before," Liz adds what she knows comes next. "But after that I felt like I couldn't live without it." She leans forward and rubs her eyes. Suddenly she feels so tired.

Elizabeth's fingers still and she looks up finally. "And so when Simon offered me that ring – the guarantee of a constant – I wanted to say yes."

Liz 1takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, avoiding eye contact. Her words are barely above a whisper, "I had to say yes." She curses the telltale blush that heats her cheeks at the admission. 1

The other woman looks at her with a sadness in her eyes that rings too close to pity. She feels so weak and spineless. The conversation is rapidly dancing away from her and1 s1he needs air. The small room's dimensions are shrinking and she's beginning to feel trapped by its white walls.

Elizabeth bites her lower lip and nods. "I felt it too." She places a gentle hand on Liz's before continuing, "I was smothered in it. But I knew that if I said yes then I'd have resigned myself to be someone other than the woman I had always wanted to become. I realized then that if I was going to live up to my aspirations I would have to take the other road – I would have to face things head on.

"I told Simon that I loved him and that I owed him infinitely for what he'd done, but that it was time for me to get back on my feet. I told him I couldn't be coddled anymore and I couldn't tie myself down, that in order to live life I would have to actually _live_ it." Elizabeth pulls back her hand and sits up straighter. "I went back to South Africa. Three months later Simon and I were dating again. He said he wanted another chance, that he was willing to give me the space I needed and that he'd support the choices I made." She tilts her head and her next words seem distant. "I left him when I came to Pegasus."

1"Oh." Liz feels her heart sink into her stomach. She 1pulls her hands into her lap and twists them together, pinching her fingers tightly between each other. All this time she's assumed that her choice had been between work and Simon. She thought that it was clear cut, one or the other. She said yes because she was afraid of losing him and being alone. But now… if she would have answered differently she could have had both. The pain of the realization is sharp and biting. The air she's breathing feels thick, heavy. She wishes it would lighten.

She forces her fingers to uncurl. "We were married for six years before I left him." She stops, frustrated with herself. She wraps her arms around her waist. 1 Sighing, she starts again. "A part of me always resented him for what I'd given up. I just couldn't get past it," 1she murmurs tonelessly.

Elizabeth isn't surprised by this – or if she is, she makes no outward sign.

Liz turns her eyes to the equipment and machines that clutter the corner of the small, hidden room. After a few minutes of staring at their indistinct forms she speaks up softly. "You're like the cooler version of me." She flushes at her statement; it's supposed to be a joke but there's too much truth to it. "My life is the 'what if I was a chicken-shit' version of yours," she continues, wishing this was over, that she could tuck herself into her own bed and sleep the truth away.

Elizabeth looks up, no doubt seeing the pain reflected in her eyes. "That's not true, not by a long shot. I just – I resolved a long time ago to take chances and follow stars and make my life what I deep down knew I wanted it to be," she explains. 1Her tone is consoling, bordering on sympathetic, and Liz wonders what she's done to deserve it. "You just have to start small. Do something you've always wanted to do but didn't think you had the courage for. When you do that you'll know – you'll feel it and you won't look back."

Liz exhales in frustration, tipping her head to stare unfocused at the mattress, fighting against the edge of hopelessness.

"Things aren't perfect in this universe either," Elizabeth continues softly. "I'm certainly not flawless. I've got plenty of problems that you don't."

1Her eyes widen and her ribs stop expanding mid-inhale. "What makes you say that?"

Elizabeth bows her head, shrugging like an errant child forced to confess. "I just," she frowns, "I guess things wouldn't have worked out with Simon either way, but you gave it – love – a chance. That sounds sappy, but…1" She stops and swallows. "I feel like in my life I've always put it on the backburner. Maybe I'm too focused on everything else." She looks up. "Sometimes I wish I could make a different choice."

She knows Elizabeth isn't talking about Simon. Giving up on him wasn't the hardship she's regretting now, if she even regretted it then. 1Liz studies the crease of her pants as she weighs and measures her words. "I think we could both be wrong," she says finally. "I chose one and you chose the other when the right answer is somewhere in between." It seems so simple now; it makes her wonder why she never saw it before.

Elizabeth's eyes are deep and wide. Her reaction tells Liz that she's hesitant to take that leap. Her words confirm it. "With where I am now, what I'm doing, I'm pretty sure I've come too far to ever find that point."

Liz thinks it's incredibly hard – that it takes more work and results in more conflict – but it would be worth it. "I think there's a balance. I think when you resolved to experience life your interpretation was a little shortsighted. Life is more than work… even if work is saving the galaxy."

Liz watches Elizabeth as she considers the assessment and wonders if maybe she should press the issue. Liz can tell she's on the verge of being convinced, but that she's still not quite ready. She needs a push before she'll be able understand completely. It's not her place though. She's planted the seed – Elizabeth and John can handle the rest.

"You passed Janus' test." Elizabeth changes the subject. "I guess that means you're more like the other version of us than I am."

"But she made it to the expedition which means that she probably had the same answer for Simon," Liz counters, thinking that she can't be anything like someone so adventurous – that this Elizabeth and the old Elizabeth have a spirit and drive she's long since lost. She feels like she's a shell of the person she's supposed to be – that the heart and meat of her were left by the wayside on the day that she gave up. She wonders if there's any way to salvage it.

Elizabeth leans back against the pillow. "Janus wasn't asking if I'm a romantic or not."

That's true she supposes, at least as defined in terms of love, but romance can be a much broader form of passion.

"What was the question you answered just before you collapsed?" Liz wonders why she hasn't thought to ask this before. She's been so caught up in other things that she's forgotten about succeeding where Elizabeth didn't.

"I don't think there's always a diplomatic solution," Elizabeth admits reluctantly. She re-tucks a strand of loose hair and looks away, fixing her vision on an unknown point on the wall.

Liz jerks her head up sharply. She assumed it was the justice and mercy question – the one that she had hesitated on… but this? Diplomacy is her life. "You don't?"

1Elizabeth shrugs helplessly, her gaze studiously avoiding eye contact. Shuddering out a slow breath, she tries but fails to keep her tone even, "You don't know what I've seen. The things out here – the world I live in now… it's not the same."

1Liz nods weakly. "1I knew that being here would force you to modify some beliefs, I mean, you're working with the military, for one."

Elizabeth looks down, fingers once again finding distraction with her laces. "I've learned a great deal and it's caused a lot of changes in me. But the other Elizabeth was working with the military too – this is something she held on to that I haven't been able to."

"Your idealism."

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, Elizabeth sighs. "I've let the things I've seen darken me. I've lost my faith in the prospect of peace."

Liz can see the sting of it in her face, like salt to a fresh wound. "You can't be blamed for giving up blind hope in the face of –"

"I can," Elizabeth interrupts, saying the words firmly. Her spine straightens and she holds her chin high. "I am the leader of this expedition. I am supposed to believe that there's a better solution. That there is always a chance things don't have to end in war."

Liz echoes the other woman's earlier gesture and places her hand on Elizabeth's, stilling her movement. "Maybe there's a lesson in this," she says, speaking the words as they take shape in her mind. "I think there are elements we can learn from each other. Life is something you have to experience to the fullest, but as you watch it unfold don't be afraid to hold onto hope – no matter how naïve it may seem."

Elizabeth offers a slanted smile. "Mom?"

Liz's nose crinkles. "She said that? I started tuning her out halfway through high school."

They both laugh – a physical release of the tension. Liz feels her stomach loosen and her shoulders slump as she lets the conversation slip away. She's not sure that they've resolved anything, but they each have something now that they didn't before. She thinks they're starting to understand each other – themselves – and it's given them a new perspective… a different lens through which to view the choices they've made. It's enough.

"So," she says, slapping her palms on her thighs, "got any good stories?"

Elizabeth grins broadly. "You have no idea."

----

"Rodney!" Liz sputters as he shoves her through the door. "What the hell are you –"

He shushes her, backing her into the darkness and tugging frantically on her arm.

She follows his lead grudgingly and sinks to a crouch beside him. "What are we doing?" she asks in a whisper.

"Lorne," he hisses. "He was coming around the corner."

"Okay…" She's not quite tracking. "And why did that prompt you to hurl me onto the balcony in the dark of night?"

"Because he was going to _see_ you!"

"And that would be a problem, why?" It's not as if she's been invisible since she's been here. "I've actually been wanting to see this Lorne guy." She starts to stand up but Rodney yanks her back down.

"It would be a problem because he just came from a meeting with the other Elizabeth and _she_ is –"

He's interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. Before she even has a chance to look up, Rodney pulls her to him and drags them both behind a nearby potted plant. He has most definitely taken this clandestine thing a little too far.

She pushes him off and peers through the foliage. From their vantage point they can't quite see the door but they do have a clear view of the railing. When John and Elizabeth come into sight Rodney lets out a relieved sigh and takes a step forward to reveal himself. Before he can make a sound Liz grabs the back of his shirt and clamps a hand over his mouth, holding him firmly in place.

"Elizabeth," John says as he steps up beside her, dropping his hands to the rail and staring out on the ocean, "there's something I need to tell you." His tone is soft, bordering on vulnerable.

Oh god. He's going to do it.

Liz pulls Rodney's ear to her lips. "I worked very hard for this and I'm going to see it unfold, damn it. You stay still. Not a sound," she instructs.

He looks a little bug-eyed but wordlessly nods his agreement so she relaxes her grip fractionally.

Though it's not cold, Elizabeth runs her hands down her arms as if to ward off a chill. "John, if this is about Liz you don't have to bother." She turns to him, leaning her hip into the railing and brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. "I know you did what you thought was best and I can't fault you for that just because it's not the choice I would have made."

John runs a hand through his hair, letting it hang on the back of his neck a moment before dropping to his side. "No, it's not that. The thing is," he says, refusing to meet her eyes. The seconds slip by and he sighs in frustration. "The thing is, Elizabeth," he starts again.

"John, what's wrong?" Concern gives an edge to her voice.

"The thing is," he clears his throat as if to forcefully expel the words, "I'm in love with you."

Beside Liz, Rodney lets out a squeak and she shoots him a baleful glare before re-tightening her grip.

Elizabeth's eyes widen and she stares at John. "You… you what?"

He finally tilts his head to look at her. "I love you, Elizabeth," he repeats, his voice thick with newfound determination. "I have for a long time."

Elizabeth shifts uncomfortably against the rail before forcing out words of her own. "But, John, you can't," she stumbles. "We can't – I mean," she looks down to the ground for a moment and then back up at him. "Atlantis and everyone here…" Her voice travels up an incline, giving her statement a questioning lilt.

He shifts to face her. "You have to know that together we can work through –"

She cuts him off with a shake of her head, resignation shadowing her features. Taking a deep breath she leans her back against the railing and studies her feet. Finally she hitches a shoulder and says with more defeat than resolve, "When we assumed our roles here we gave up any possibility for this, John, you know that as well as I do." She bites her lip and her gaze slides toward him. "I'm sorry." The words sound like they're being pulled from her chest.

Liz feels her heart sink but John seems to expect the response. The irony is that John was right. Every argument he's ever made to himself, to Liz, is now being used against him.

"That's what we've been telling ourselves for years," he agrees.

Elizabeth turns once more to the ocean, tangling her fingers together – tightening them until her knuckles blanch. "That doesn't make it any less true."

"The argument is moot, Elizabeth. It doesn't matter what we told ourselves – _tell_ ourselves – it doesn't change anything," John insists. "You know that."

She doesn't argue the point. "So let's not make a bad situation worse." She smiles wanly in an attempt to ease the sting of her words, then ducks her head and shrugs a little, glancing away from him. "It'll be easier this way. We're still friends and leave it at that, okay? As platonic as it's ever been."

He hooks a finger under her chin and angles her face back toward his. "Elizabeth," he says gently, "it's never been platonic. Do you really think admitting it out loud will make our decisions any harder than they are now?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I can't see how that's possible."

Liz thinks there should be fear in his eyes, but she sees only determination.

"The only question is," John speaks slowly, drawing out every word, "do you love me?"

Elizabeth blinks, her eyelids drifting shut and opening slowly. "Yes," she sighs out the word.

"Then that's what matters." John takes a step forward, closes the distance between them and brushes a windblown curl from her face. He tucks it behind her ear and leans in, slowly bringing his lips to hers.

The tear that slides down Liz's cheek isn't one of pure happiness, but it's not sadness either. 1If she's honest with herself, and she'd like to think that's the case, she knows this whole experience has affected her deeply. Things are going to be different now.

She dashes a finger under her eye and turns to find Rodney gawking at the sight of his commanders in a fairly compromising embrace. He removes her hand from where it's been covering his mouth and pokes her in the shoulder. Then he points at John and Elizabeth. "How did you do that?"

----

John casts her a sideways glance as they walk into the lab where Carson, Rodney and Elizabeth are already waiting. "You sure you don't want another ride in the jumper, Liz?"

The way every part of her aches to say yes makes the correct response blindingly clear. "No," she shakes her head as they step up to the table, "I think once is enough. I should keep these feet on the ground."

He raises his eyebrows. "Where's the fun in that?"

Carson sighs. "Let the poor woman go home, Colonel."

"Right," John responds with a grin. "Just thought I'd offer." He smiles at her then, a real smile with his whole face, not the half-smile she's become used to seeing on him. She can't help but feel warmth from the fact that her actions helped put it there.

Carson steps up to her and wraps her in a big bear hug. It takes a moment before she returns it – a little thrown by the intimate gesture. But at the same time no other action would have been as fitting. "Take care, lass," he says as he pulls away.

"It was nice to meet you," Rodney says and then shifts a little uncomfortably. "And, um, the other me… maybe you could – I don't know, be especially nice to him or something? I mean, he's probably just a little socially… um. You know."

She thinks she knows exactly. "I will," she promises.

Elizabeth shakes her head with amusement before turning to Liz. "Thank you," she says softly. She doesn't have to add "for everything."

Liz nods in response. She knows the sentiment behind Elizabeth's words with as much certainty as she knows her own.

John buries her in a hug that rivals Carson's before she even manages to turn toward him. She tries not to think about him and the fact that she'll never see him again. Instead, she concentrates on remembering his smile and the way his arms circle her waist. "I owe you," he whispers in her ear, soothing a hand down her spine before releasing his hold.

Her eyes sting and she blinks rapidly to clear them. She wants to tell him she doesn't need the thanks. She wants to tell him that anyone would have done what she did. Instead she simply nods, knowing that perfunctory half-truths won't make this any easier.

"And uh… about the other thing," from the way he's fumbling she guesses he's referring to their aborted kiss, "I… I'm sorry." He winces a little and she releases a watery chuckle.

Her hand cuffs his wrist lightly and she pauses, wishing that she could keep it there for a little while longer. 1Raising herself onto her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek before easing away and says, "Don't give it another thought."

She can't help herself and smiles slyly before continuing, "I mean,_ I_ might," she watches the flush of pink color his cheeks, "but you really shouldn't."

Her hand hovers above the trigger Rodney instructed would take her home and she looks to the faces of the people that have come to mean so much to her. "Take care of each other," she says softly, watching John lace his fingers together with Elizabeth's. With only a sliver of hesitation she activates the device and is once again engulfed in a blinding white light.


	6. Epilogue

It's been eight months since Liz was introduced to the multiverse theory of quantum mechanics (she'd looked it up immediately upon returning home) and she is two-hundred and thirty-seven days into Project: Live Life to the Fullest (sometimes referred to as Project: Oh, For Heaven's Sake, Sac Up and Do It Already).

So far it has been a raging success.

Two weeks after returning to Earth she started calling people she worked with during her time at the United Nations. Five months after that she handed in her resignation to the dean. When the semester's paperwork had been completed she accepted a job as a foreign liaison and consultant in D.C.

Then she bought a dog.

Last month she signed up for cooking classes – emphasis on pastries (they haven't gotten to frosting yet, unfortunately).

She even managed to convince Rodney McKay to be her ballroom dancing partner.

On her way home from the office this afternoon she saw a billboard advertising the Maryland State Fair and its special guest: the world's largest pig. While it wasn't originally on her list of things to do, she didn't have a hard time convincing herself that it was an opportunity that someone living life to the fullest simply wouldn't pass up.

Two hours, forty-eight dollars, and one corndog later she and her recently acquired friend (Medium Scooby Doo) are standing in line for the Ferris wheel. She tugs at a wisp of her pink cotton candy, dropping it into her mouth and rolling it over her tongue as it dissolves. Life really does hold a sweetness now that it hadn't before.

"The Ferris wheel?" a young boy whines from his place in line behind her. "Can't we go on the rollercoaster again?"

"Please?" another chimes in with a plaintive tone so perfectly charming she's sure he must practice.

"I've let you two drag me around this madhouse for the past three hours. We've been spun, hurled, flung, twirled and tossed."

Her heart actually stops beating and she's unable to move. She knows that voice. She squeezes her eyes shut and battles back the overwhelming tide of adrenaline that sweeps through her.

"Uncle John gets to pick the ride this time," he continues patiently. "Then we can go be flipped to your little hearts' content. Deal?"

The response is unenthusiastic at best, but she barely registers it because it's John. God, _John_.

The warm August breeze ghosts across her face as her cheeks burn with a nervous blush. It blows her hair and pushes at her skirt, wrapping around her legs. She shudders, but she's certain it isn't a result of the wind.

She would be lying if she said she hasn't thought about the possibility that there's a John Sheppard walking around on her particular plane of existence. She'd be lying if she said she didn't think about it every single day. But she never once thought she would actually see him.

And now that she's found him she doesn't know what to do. She feels like she's fourteen again and Tommy McPhadden is walking behind her in the hall after Geometry. Does she turn and say something? Does she pretend she doesn't notice him? If she opens her mouth will words come out?

_Sac up_, she reminds herself, _sac up!_

She drops the remainder of her cotton candy in the bin, combs her fingers through her hair and pivots on her heel. "Why don't you boys like the Ferris wheel?" Okay, yes, it's cheating to break the ice with the children first. She's only _slightly_ ashamed of herself.

"Because it's so _slow_," the first boy answers with an adorable little huff.

She tries not to smile as she crouches down to his eye level. "Do you know why it's so slow?"

"Because it's for old people?"

"Hey!" John exclaims with mock affront. He points a finger to his chest. "I am not old." He glances down at her and she wonders how she's remembered so much about him – the breadth of his shoulders, the spiky texture of his hair, every crease of his face.

The second boy rolls his eyes. "Please, Uncle John."

She meets John's gaze and holds the contact. She can practically hear the crackle of the spark that flares.

11He raises an eyebrow and she smiles sheepishly, turning back to the children. "It's so slow because they don't want boys like you to ride on it." Her lips twitch as the boy's brow furrows in confusion.

"They don't?" 1he asks, doubt creeping into his voice.

She shakes her head. "Nope, they don't."

"Why not?"

She leans in as if divulging a secret. "Because you're not ready for it."

"I'm ready for anything!" the first boy says quickly and the second nods his agreement.

She frowns and hopes she looks stern. "You're too young. You'd be scared."

His lips pucker into a frown. "I'm not scared!" he defends before pausing, his thoughts catching up to his words. "Why would I be scared of the Ferris wheel?"

"Because it goes so high you can touch the clouds."

"The clouds?" The boys look to their uncle for verification. "Really?"

John nods knowingly. "Really. It's the highest ride in the fair. Why do you think it's my favorite?"

The ride operator calls for the next passenger and Liz deflates slightly. She stands up, giving John a small smile before turning and handing over her tickets. The voice in her head reminds her of her new outlook on life and berates her for letting the very opportunity she's been waiting for – pining for – pass her by. She bites her lip, disgusted with herself. She knows she'll regret this – in the morning, on the drive home, two minutes from now – but she can't think of what to say. How do you ask a stranger to join you?

"Excuse me," his voice stops her movement, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in some company." He tilts his head, indicating the ride. "I know how frightening the Ferris wheel can be."

She bites back a grin. _That's_ how you do it. One eye narrows suspiciously and she half-turns to look up at him. "And you think I can't handle it?"

"No, no," he counters easily. With a guileless shrug he gestures to her arms. "You've got Scooby to protect you. I was thinking for me."

1She laughs and turns fully to face him. "Ah, well then I suppose company would be all right. I wouldn't want to leave you alone and scared."

"My knight in shining armor," he drawls with an arched brow and a smile before extending his hand. "I'm John."

She takes it and her skin burns on contact, heat searing a path from her fingers to the tips of her toes. "Liz."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Liz." 1He smiles at her, a full smile that is so genuine she feels one of her own blossoming in return.

The operator clears his throat and they both jump a little. "Would you mind if the boys cut?" John asks.

She shakes her head. When he offers a hand again she takes it automatically, letting him draw her up the short steps and lead her to the ride.

"Thanks," she replies, a bit shaky. As John helps the boys she takes a deep breath to calm her nerves. An entire ride with John. Just her and John. She can handle this.

She just hopes she doesn't do anything stupid like tell him that she's in love with him.

The ride jerks into motion, sweeping up the boys and bringing the next seat to a stop in front of them. John steps aside, gesturing for her to go first and ushers her in with the faint brush of his hand on the small of her back as if it's the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Cute kids," she says as they settle into the ride.

"Yeah," he looks to the car in front of them where two blonde heads are bobbing excitedly up and down. "They're my sister's. We spend time together when we can." He reaches up to pull down the metal bar, taking care to not squish her stuffed companion. "So, did you win Scooby with your charm or do you have other skills?" He smiles at her and it's enough to set her heart pounding.

"Well I do have surprisingly good aim, but I think the charm helped." She laughs softly remembering the fumbling, freckle-faced kid that had been behind the booth. "Teenage boys can't seem to resist me when I put my mind to something I want. First: Scooby. Next: intergalactic domination." The Ferris wheel rumbles to life and they begin their ascent.

John lets out a low chuckle. "Shouldn't there be a step in between? Like, I don't know, Large Scooby?"

"Well, you do have a point there." More of a point than he realizes, probably. "I'll have to work on my ring toss." She had actually been trying for the large one, thinking it would take her new puppy longer to chew through. But after eight dollars she finally admitted that medium would have to suffice. Now she's pretty sure that she's going to spare the little guy – maybe even build him a glass case – as he's proving to be quite a good luck charm.

"I happen to be an excellent instructor," he says with a hint of teasing superiority.

"Is that a fact?" She raises one eyebrow, eyes sparkling with amusement.

He nods sagely. "I actually had a ring tossed at me once." He points to his forehead. "Hit me right here. You can still see the scar."

She winces sympathetically and leans forward to verify the claim, squinting in the evening light. "I don't see it," she says after careful inspection.

He tilts his head up, his hot breath on her face sending tremors of electricity coursing through her. She knows immediately that she's in trouble. "Huh," he breathes. She can't – won't – move, worried that any action larger than a breath will break the spell that's wound around them.

"Huh," she echoes, aware only that the world has stopped turning. After what seems like an eternity she manages to engage her brain long enough to remember that she's only just met this man ten minutes ago and she pulls back, suddenly too embarrassed to meet his eyes. For a moment John looks as if he wants to say something, but with a bashful shrug he settles back into his seat. Liz drags Scooby onto her lap and toys absently with his ears. The wheel ceases its slow revolution, halting to exchange passengers a few cars back and affording them a view of the fair. The night sky is painted by the colorful glow of lights and music from the amphitheatre is faint in the distance.

She turns and catches him watching her intently. John clears his throat and asks in a voice that's not quite steady, "So, Liz, I know your name. Do I get to know anything else about you?" 1

"Hmm…" She 1contemplates him for a moment, watching the way the light plays across his face. The way it reflects in his eyes. She considers telling him that she's recently returned from another universe, that she played matchmaker to their alternate selves. One side of her mouth tilts in a half-smile at the thought, but ultimately she decides she'd rather not scare him to death at 100 feet. She settles on something a little less revealing. "I was married once, back in my other life," she says softly.

He studies her, eyebrows raised and his gaze is playfully wary. "Your other life?"

Nodding, she tugs her sleeves over her fingers and looks up at him from under her eyelashes. "I recently rebooted. I wasn't operating like I should have been."

John laughs and 1braces one arm against the bar, twisting in the seat to face her. "I do that with my computer when it starts acting up. I've never considered applying the concept to life." He tilts his head, curious. "How's it working?"

She brushes a strand of hair back from her eyes, a grin faint on her lips. It's working better than she ever expected. "Really well." She taps the chair with her knuckles. "If this ride flew to Pegasus, I'd say things were perfect."

"Pegasus, huh?" he asks with eager eyes and thinly veiled excitement. If he were a dog, his ears would have perked up and his tail would be wagging. "So, your adventurous streak extends beyond heights?"

She can't help but laugh. "I like to live dangerously."

He laces his fingers together at the base of his neck, leans back in his seat and tilts his head skyward. "I've been there, you know."

She's not sure why this surprises her, but it does. "You're military?"

Nodding, he turns to her. "Air Force. I spent four years in Atlantis before I came back."

She can't imagine the other John ever returning to Earth. "Why'd you leave?" He sits up and looks away, hooking his chin on his shoulder, and she instantly regrets the question. Chiding herself for being so insensitive she attempts to salvage things. "I'm sorry, that was an inappropriate question. I shouldn't have –"

He drops a hand to her forearm, cutting off her apology. "No, that's all right." His voice falls flat and he studies the space that separates them. "My CO and I didn't work very well together." He pulls back his hand and shrugs his next statement as if it doesn't carry the weight she knows it does. "I'm not very good at following the rules."

She lets her eyes sweep over his silhouette, searching for hints as to how the return has affected him. She thinks about the other Atlantis and the fact that John's inability to follow the rules was the very thing that saved Elizabeth. She imagines that hers wasn't the only life he changed by doing what he felt was right rather than following orders. "That isn't always a bad thing. 'Rules are not necessarily sacred, principles are.'"

For a long minute he looks up at her, gratitude evident in his features. Then his lips curve into a wry grin. "Which one of the X-Men said that?" He frowns and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Wolverine?"

Liz shakes her head and fights the urge to roll her eyes. "F.D.R."

His smile is back and he points at her, shaking his finger. "That was my next guess."

She laughs with him and their humor slips comfortably into silence. People mingle in the park below and the stars shine brightly above. Somewhere in between the voices of John's nephews carry but the words lose shape and distinction as they drift across the night air.

1She lets her breath out slowly and stares up at the night sky, her brain clawing desperately for some suitable way to slow time and capture this moment indefinitely. The motion of the wheel is slowing now and she knows the ride is coming to its end. "Thank you for the company," she says, soft and shy.

"I should be thanking you," John responds with a satisfied hum, his shoulder brushing gently against hers, making her skin tingle. "If you two hadn't agreed to join me I'd be up here in the sky all alone."

She sighs happily and lingers in the sensation of being this close to him. "That's what we're here for," she says, dropping a pat on Scooby's head. A glimmer of doubt sparks unpleasantly. "You don't have anyone else to share the skies with you?" The second the question leaves her lips she fears she's being to forward, too obvious, but he elbows her ribs playfully and she can't do anything but smile.

He shrugs and glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Well, Jake and Andy don't think it's cool to ride with their uncle." He grins. "They are, of course, completely wrong – but you know how kids are."

Her smile softens, deepens in response to his. "Their loss is my gain."

She thinks she sees him blush and she can't help herself. Ever so slowly she leans over and presses a gentle kiss to his reddening cheek. The contact feels warm and exciting and incredibly right though it's only a wisp of her lips on his skin. She pulls back carefully and at his questioning look explains, "Just taking some advice. Someone very wise once told me that I should take each day and do something I've always wanted to do."

"I think I like this someone," he says as the chair comes to a halt a few feet from the ground. The boys are released from their seat and an older couple takes their place. "Did he or she have any more advice?"

"Plenty," she breathes the words into the night sky. She can't remember ever feeling this happy.

They jerk forward a few feet before stopping and John lifts the metal bar, sliding out and offering her a hand. 1 Her fingers curl around his and grip. "Anything along the lines of 'go to dinner with a handsome stranger?'" he asks with an undertone of suggestion that turns boyishly hopeful.

She struggles to keep her heart in her chest, but fails even a token effort to keep the smile from her face as they walk off the ride and into the crowd. "I'm pretty sure that falls under doing something I've always wanted to do," she answers, soft and sincere.

"Uncle John!" one of the children yells as the pair race up to meet them. "Uncle John, I touched the clouds!"

John ruffles the boy's hair and his eyes turn to Liz. He squeezes her hand. "I did too, Jake. I did too."

--End--


End file.
